


Forgotten

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [656]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: scribbles97 askedI could have picked so many of those AU pairings for Gordon and Penelope... but I'm gonna go with 18!18=waking up with amnesia aufor the AU Meme
Series: prompt ficlets [656]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/53353
Kudos: 11





	Forgotten

She comes to with an aching head and absolutely no idea where she was. Or who she was.

The panic rises quickly, but she ruthlessly forces it down, begins assessing her situation. The space looked like a standard, dull grey open-plan office, a sea of cubicles. The chair next to her has been tipped over, the light-weight partition behind it knocked off its squared alignment.

A quick patdown yields a makeup compact and a slim purse. Inside that is an ID card, blank but lighting up at a touch.

“Penelope Creighton-Ward. Well, that’s a mouthful,” she decides briskly, tucking it and the compact back safely into her coat pocket. She had a name, maybe. Now for the rest.

The computer was buzzing, the screen burnt out, carbon deposits on the keyboard. She’s loathe to touch it, or possibly touch it again, and instead turns to start looking for the exit.

Her memories were still a mush, but there are clear aisles between the cubicles, and so she picked one almost at random and heads out. Moving helped keep the panic at bay.

But when the big emergency doors at the end of the hall she’s following bang open, she’s tense enough to leap up and back, muscles finding a defensive posture she couldn’t remember knowing. “Who are you?”

“Lady,” the guy says. He’s wearing a bright blue wetsuit, the yellow respirator half-torn off its hose. He’s got an impressive bruise blooming on his cheek and a wild look in his eyes. “That’s the twenty million dollar question.”

She creeps closer, takes in the way he’s breathing hard and laboured, the little cough and rasp, and adds it to the torn respirator. “Gas?”

“I think so. Feels like I’ve been french-kissing a smog catcher,” he admits, watching her as warily as she’s watching him. “And to be honest, I think it scrambled my noggin.”

“You can’t remember your name?”

“Lady, I don’t know name, date or state. You?” 

She shakes her head, unwilling to reveal her vulnerabilities. “I think I’m Penelope. Allegedly.”

“Well, Penelope,” he glances around, then offers her his hand. “So what’s say you and I blow this popsicle stand and then see if we can figure the rest out?”

She has no reason to trust him except the way every cell in her body gangs up on her mind and has her taking his hand. “Exit, stage left, pursued by a bear?”

He laughs in a way that makes her toes curl. “Lady, the way our day is going, a bear would be an improvement. Which way?”

She tugs him around and together she and her new favourite stranger head for daylight.


End file.
